


The Marks of the Past

by under-latest-nostalgia (psionicTrickster)



Series: Folie à Quatre [2]
Category: Descendants (2015), Disney - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Body Modification, Friendship, Gen, Non-Consensual Body Modification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 16:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11558895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psionicTrickster/pseuds/under-latest-nostalgia
Summary: The Isle had claws. The children who were born there would be forever marked. In their hearts, their minds and in their very souls. Sometimes, the wounds it leaves are invisible, but sometimes it lays them on their skin.AKA. Body Mods, Angst & Rotten Four Feelings.





	The Marks of the Past

There were a lot of marks the Isle would leave on its children. Some not quite so visible, ingrained into their very souls and minds. But some… some were very visible. Left there to remind them that no matter where they go, they will never quite shed their Isle origins.

* * *

For Carlos, it was spots.

The one thing Cruella liked about Carlos was the freckles on his face. Often, she’d stroke his cheek and coo at the “lovely spatter of spots” that decorated his cheeks. It was the only time Cruella showed any true affection for Carlos and Carlos  _ hated _ it.

Because most of the time, she’d follow it with a frown. A twist of the wrist. A mumbled, “shame it’s only on your face dear.” And just like that, a new “spot” bloomed on Carlos’ body. Spots shaped like cigarette burns and carved skin. Spots that would heal badly and raise islands on his skin, forever marking the surface with another reminder of his mother and the isle. Spots that framed bite marks and unhealthy skin.

Cruella loved his spots and Carlos wished his mother would just not look at him like she usually does.

* * *

Jay’s was magic. Or really, his lack of it.

There was a reason Jafar turned him into a lowly thief and didn’t bother to look at him as more than free labor. Because what was the point if your child had no talent?

All Jay had was strength, agility and resourcefulness. None of which, Jafar thought, would ever match up to the power of a genie’s magic. On days that the catch was low, Jafar would often rant of universal power in his hands. Of the might of the stars in a strand of hair.

And how Jay is his biggest failure for inheriting none of its usefulness.

There was a day. Jafar. Just. Snapped.

The catch was low for a long time and today was the breaking point because Jay dropped a lamp before Jafar could touch it.

_ ARE YOU A FOOL AS WELL AS A MISTAKE? _

Jay’s breath caught in his throat for the first time in a long time as Jafar’s posture straightened and eyes grew wild.

_ AT LEAST THE FAE GIRL HAS SOME POWER IN HER BLOOD. WHY DON’T WE MATCH HER EYES TO YOURS? _

And just like that, Jay was strapped to a table with tears rising on his chubby young face as Jafar extended a sharp needle in his hand and drawing green ink from a bottle.

His screams weren’t all that unorthodox on the isle, but that was the day the world would look at Jay differently. They would stare at his unnaturally green eyes and let horror color their face.

_ LOOK AT THAT JAY, YOU MANAGED TO GET SOMEBODY TO FEAR YOU. _

Sometimes, Jay would look at Mal’s glowing green eyes and bile would rise in his throat as the image of a needle full of ink drew closer in his mind.

* * *

 

Mal was never good enough.

Jay would be jealous of her spark of magic but for her mother it was a sad shadow of what could have been. Of what  _ should  _ have been.

It was why her mother tolerated no mistakes.

Mal was already only half fae, and not only that she was a very broken unmagical half fae. Unfit to be heir to the Moors. And her mother’s sharp face and disapproving glare is quick to remind her of that. Of her useless spark of power and how she would never truly feel the rush of magic in her veins.

A mistake by Mal was an offense from an already worthless offspring.

And so, each mistake would be carved into her skin. To remind her that so long as she is not able to truly inherit the Moors, she will feel her mistakes on her spine.

She was a mockery of a dragon faery and the row of metal along her spine was aa testament to an ability she could never use.

* * *

 

Evie’s mark was the easiest to hide. After all, her mother would settle for no less than perfectly smooth skin. Unless of course, she wasn’t the fairest of them all.

When Evie first hears of the fair folk, she’s ecstatic. She wonders if those were her people, after all her mother tells her that she was the fairest after the queen.

She regrets mentioning their existence.

The moment she tells of the fair folk, her mother’s face darkens. A look that Evie had not seen on her dear Momma’s face until that moment.

_ Sweetheart. Come here. It seems that you are not yet fit to be the fairest. _

Anger tinged her words red and soon the queen’s sharp nails were tinged in blood as well.

_ EVIE. Stay STILL you useless child. The standards have been raised and you are to raise above them. _

Tears welled up on the young girls face as her ears were cut to a point. They would be quite unnatural and she would keep her hair long to hide the messily tipped skin. But she could never get rid of them. Of the reminder that as much as her mother loved her, beauty was more important.

If you were not the fairest then you do everything and anything to be.

Her skin would be forever marred with a standard she could not reach and a memory she could not forget.

* * *

They all had their own marks. Their own horrors. Their own fears. Nightmares. Dreads.

The Isle doesn’t let its children go so easily. And the marks will never fade.

But maybe. Slowly. They will start to heal.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry <3
> 
> hmu @ under-latest-nostalgia.tumblr.com


End file.
